


Captive

by MissIodine



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Interrogation, Self-Doubt, Self-Indulgent, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIodine/pseuds/MissIodine
Summary: Oala Pirek, a Cardassian infantry conscript, has only two weeks left of her mandatory military service, but a fateful patrol in the Bajoran countryside goes awry.
Relationships: Original Bajoran Character/Original Cardassian Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. The Patrol

It was almost amusing how naturally beautiful the Bajoran landscape was, yet how dangerous that same place was for a Cardassian soldier to be in. Oala knew that was easily attributed to the current occupation of the Bajoran homeworld.

“Just keep your eyes out, Pirek. Bajorans could be anywhere waiting to spring an attack,” called Oala Pirek’s commanding officer, his eyes peeled on the ridgeline.

“Affirmative,” Oala said in acknowledgement as she pushed a strand of black hair away from her face.

The 8-strong squad of Cardassian soldiers patrolled the riverbank in Tajur Province. Word was the Bajoran Resistance was gaining support and becoming more bold in their ambushes against lone patrols and lightly defended supply depots. 

Lucky for her, Oala knew this to be one of her last assignments. Her mandatory military service was coming to an end with less than two weeks left in total. Then she could get on with her life from this miserable duty and hopefully distance herself from the most militaristic aspects of society. Equally lucky was the fact that, besides target practice, Oala hadn’t ever needed to discharge her weapon on anyone and hadn’t ever been shot at. She knew she’d like to keep it that way. Certain ‘colleagues’ of hers couldn’t say the same. The prospect of getting into a firefight was among the most dreadful possibilities.

As if on cue, Oala’s worst nightmares were realized.

“Contact!” the lead scout shouted before being shot by a phaser somewhere from the hills towards the east and falling limp onto the dirt trail.

Oala’s squad scrambled for cover behind several rocks adjacent to a small ridge. A steady stream of phaser bolts came again from the same position. Oala anticipated the shooter to be in the northeast, near some low shrubbery she had seen a few moments before the attack.

The rear guard of the Cardassian patrol, known to be a bloodthirsty and cocky veteran grinned and said he’d go for a flanking maneuver if the rest of them provided some covering fire. But the moment he exited the other side of the rock formation, he too was cut down, except from a different enemy position farther to the south.

“ _ Skata! _ ” Squad leader Mavot cursed at seeing the seasoned soldier go down so quickly. “Listen up!” he addressed the now six-person patrol, “Heves, lay down some suppressing fire. Pirek, contact Command to get some backup sent here. The rest of you--on me! Let’s make an assault to take care of these terrorists! Stop for nothing!”

Oala looked to her fellow comrade Heves, another conscript who had very little experience and training like her. He looked to be petrified with fear. 

Mavot shouted a battle cry and led the remainder of the team into the open in an attempt to inspire fear in the Bajoran attackers and push them back, but he obviously underestimated their numbers, precision, and dedication. Heves didn’t need to be accurate, but as Oala would have guessed, Heves’s covering fire was all but useless and the rest of the team was promptly cut to pieces.

Oala tapped her wrist-mounted communicator, but it chimed disapprovingly. She tapped it again and again, but it gave the same negative note each time. Oala knew from that sound that a dampening field or something else along those lines must have been set in place to stop any attempt for the Cardassians to call for backup. 

Heves kept shooting at the hills before he tried to make a hasty withdrawal from cover, except this time in retreat. He didn’t make it twenty meters before he too was shot down with a phaser bolt piercing through his back armor plates.

The scene had become deathly silent once again. Except for the Cardassian bodies down the trail and on the grassy hills, and lack of birds singing, one might not have thought anything wrong with the countryside if they just so happened to stumble upon the area at that moment. Oala clutched her phase-disruptor rifle in her hands, constantly gazing side to side in terror at her fallen squadmates and in fear of seeing a flanking Bajoran ready to gun her down. Needless to say, she was completely horrified.

Oala pushed her back up against the piece of cover again and laid in wait. It was easily a few minutes since the last shots were fired. Perhaps the Bajorans thought they killed everyone, she wondered? Perhaps they would move off before Cardassian reinforcements would have arrived if she got a message out? 

Without thinking, Oala made the foolish mistake of gazing around the side of the rocks to see whether the ambushers still remained. She saw a Bajoran man slowly approaching from about a hundred meters away, before he gasped and took aim. She barely pulled back in time for a phaser beam to pass right where her head would have been.

A renewed melody of death from weapons fire erupted, forcing Oala back down into cover.

It was hopeless, Oala knew. Nothing short of a miracle would save her, unless...

“Hold your fire!” Oala shouted, hoping that they’d hear her over the phaser discharges and impacts. “I-I’m...I surrender! I’m throwing down my weapon! Don’t shoot!”

The shooting subsided for a moment, however, there wasn’t a vocal reply. Oala decided to take that for an answer and slowly extended her arm out of cover, holding her disruptor rifle by the top and dropping it onto the ground, so that it’d be out of reach and her enemy combatants could see that. She immediately pulled her hand back when a phaser beam impacted the rock she was taking cover behind. She dropped the rifle just as she promised, but now she didn’t have a weapon to defend herself from people who seemed hellbent on killing her whether she was armed or not.

“Hey! Hey! Dram, stop shooting! She surrendered!” a female voice called out. “Cardassian! Step out from behind the boulder and you will not be harmed.”

Oala hesitated. She wasn’t entirely sure if this was a ruse so they could have an easier time executing her. But faced with the brutal reality there wasn’t anywhere to run and if she did try to make a mad dash for it, her chances of survival were slim. With no alternative in sight, Oala stepped out with her hands raised, shaking in pure terror.

“Please don’t shoot, I’m unarmed!” Oala could hear the trembling in her own voice.

She saw several members of the Resistance training their weapons on her. There were four of them here, but they likely had a few unseen snipers elsewhere. A fair-skinned woman wearing modest, yet ornate gold over her brown tunic seemed to be their leader.

“Tie her up and we’ll take her back as a prisoner,” the woman commanded her subordinates.

One of the resistance fighters approached her with rope and cloth and did exactly as ordered. He placed a blindfold over her eyes as well. “I think she’ll make a nice bargaining chip, don’t you think,” one of them chuckled.

“That, or a new toy, heh!” Oala thought she heard one of the other men say as someone pulled harshly on her braids.

Someone took her by the arm and led her down a trail with several turns. Oala began to hyperventilate, unsure what was going to happen to her when they arrived at their base.


	2. Yida Setara

Oala couldn’t tell how long they’d been walking at this point. They’d taken her comm, her rifle, and the rest of her equipment, not that it’d be any use to her with the blindfold over her eyes and hands bound behind her. It felt like at least an hour had passed, maybe more. Oala could feel the blindfold darken slightly as if they were in the shade now. The ground beneath Oala’s boots seemed to harden, and her and her companions’ footsteps also sounded like they were on stone, although it was difficult to tell. Cardassian hearing wasn’t as acute as that of other species.

She debated begging for her life and pleading for them not to hurt her, and to say she was only a lowly conscript, not worth being tortured--if that was to be her fate. However, she was too afraid to say anything whatsoever. She knew how Cardassians usually treated prisoners who talked when they weren’t addressed—a painful riflebutt to the head. Thankfully, she never had the order to do anything of the sort or much interaction with prisoners. Although, her current Bajoran company didn’t know that. For all she knew, they likely thought her a cold-hearted and ruthless _spoonhead_ and likely would show the same courtesy many racist Cardassians showed to their kind.

“Sit her down here. I’ll conduct the interrogations when I’m ready,” said a female voice. It sounded like the woman from before.

Someone set her down in a wooden chair. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but she was glad to be unharmed as they promised, at least for the moment. Everyone around seemed to leave as their footsteps receded.

They made her wait in the seat for another indiscernible amount of time before she heard footsteps approaching again. Oala tilted her head up, but it didn’t do any use in aiding her senses.

“So. Cardassian...”

It almost certainly sounded like the woman from before.

“Why don’t you tell me what your name is?” her unembodied captor asked.

“O-Oala. Oala Pirek.”

“Well, Oala Pirek. Your rank? Unit? Mission?”

“Kel, F-fourth Order. W..we were supposed to patrol the canyon for rebels. I um...guess we found you,” Oala struggled to say.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” the woman asked with a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“N-no, ma’am,” Oala stuttered, before adding, “sorry.”

Oala felt a hand grip her neck on one of the more erogenous zones. 

“Good....”

Oala’s blindfold was loosened by her captor. When it was pulled off, she caught a glimpse of them. It was definitely the same woman from before. This time, Oala got a better look at her. She was beautiful.

“What are you doing?” the woman inquired, furrowing her brow.

“U-um what?”

“Your mouth is open. You’re staring at me.”

“Oh-oh.” Oala looked down and away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Uh-huh.”

The Cardassian also got a decent view of the location they placed her in. The walls looked to be made of rock, just as the floor and overhead. Her original assumption did prove to be correct; she was in a cave, likely operated out of as the main base of this woman’s resistance cell.

The woman put a hand on the far side of Oala’s face, feeling the pale, smooth skin and tilting it up and back to her. “I want to get a good look at you,” she said simply.

Oala made another brief moment of eye contact, but quickly averted her eyes. Despite trying to mentally remove herself from the situation at hand, her captor’s piercing gaze seemed to see everything there was about her.

“For a Cardassian, you’re not so ugly.”

Did she hear that right? Oala remade eye contact with the Bajoran, completely flabbergasted at the comment.

“Certainly not as ugly as many other Cardassians,” the Bajoran continued. “I’d even venture to call you pretty.”

Oala didn’t know what to say. Was she supposed to say anything in response to that? She swallowed hard.

“Thank you?” responded Oala, with the former tremors in her speech replaced with nothing more than confusion. This interrogation was far from the manner of ones conducted by her species.

The Bajoran woman smiled and huffed. She seemed to be almost amused. She took a few steps away and grabbed a Cardassian phase-disruptor rifle off a table. Oala recognized it as hers, seeing the little regnar trinket she kept since childhood hanging off the sling swivel on its stock. 

"You have a fine weapon, Oala."

Oala flinched when the Bajoran swung it around and the barrel waved over her for a second. She feared she was close to a swift execution. Her captor flipped a side panel open. “Fully charged power cell too. You didn’t even fire a single shot. Why is that?”

“I-I don’t know. I-I-I…” Oala struggled to find any words. "I-I didn't want to shoot any--"

“Really? Those are hardly the words of a Cardassian oppressor.” The Bajoran swung around and pressed the rifle against Oala’s chest armor. “Not even a _filthy Bajoran_ like me? Or are you simply afraid to get on my bad side that you’re powerless to do anything? You’re a Cardassian. It’s not by chance you and your lackies are just taking a little, friendly stroll through my backyard. Are you sure that you just didn’t have a chance to take a shot?”

“Wait! I don’t want to shoot anyone! I don’t want to kill anyone! I swear it! ” Oala blurted, gazing at the service weapon turned on her. “Please believe me! Please!”

“And why should I? Even if you aren’t such a murderer through direct means, as you claim, if given the opportunity, aren’t you just another oppressor who would easily help in efforts to massacre my people and me?”

“I’m a conscript! I’m—I was assigned here against my will! My mandatory service is nearly over!” Oala stammered. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll tell you anything and everything I know.”

The Bajoran glared at Oala, seemingly to weigh the benefits and drawbacks at disposing of her.

“Anything! I’ll _do_ anything! Just please don’t kill me. Please, please, please...” Oala knew her appeals were becoming more and more pathetic as the tears started to stream down her face.

“What would a lowly conscript know that could benefit me or the Resistance?” 

“I-I admit it’s not much, but I will tell you _everything_ I know. Layouts of buildings, usual security arrangements, the identities of my superiors, locations of barracks.”

Her captor lowered the weapons slightly and took a seat in the chair across from Oala. “Details.”

Oala recalled every piece of information she knew. It certainly helped to have a photographic memory; she only needed to sift through for any memory that seemed remotely useful for a Bajoran rebel leader. She could only imagine how incoherent some of her anxiety-filled sentences became, but the Bajoran seemed to be interested in anything that came her way so far.

Her captor sighed at a certain point in the interrogation when Oala’s statements barely even connected to the topic of military affairs, and then put up a hand.

“That’ll be all for now, Oala. I have no way of telling anything of what you’re saying is true, but I’m confident you value your life and therefore wouldn’t tell me bald-faced lies,” she said, placing the disruptor back on the table. “You’ll remain unharmed _as promised_.”

The Cardassian prisoner made an almost unnoticeable half-smile, relieved that it seemed she wouldn’t be disposed of.

“But if I find out you’re lying, you’re dead.”

Oala’s faint smile disappeared and she frantically shook her head. “I swear I haven’t lied about anything. You have my word.”

“Of course I do,” the Bajoran said quickly and dismissively. “Now come on.”

Oala’s still unnamed captor grabbed her by the arm and hoisted her to her feet and began to drag-pull her through the cave complex. The rope binding her wrists still prevented her from any attempt at escape, not that she really considered opting for it. The blindfold from earlier and the many twists and turns completely ruined her sense of direction.

Finally, Oala was led through a larger cavern where other members of the Bajoran Resistance were congregated. From observation, it was a workshop, evident by the tables of makeshift weapons and barrels strewn about, or barracks seeing as how sleeping rolls and cots dotted the room. Or more likely it was both. As Oala inspected closer, it wasn’t just able-bodied people who were in the room: there were the children, elderly, sick--all present and could easily amount to a small village’s worth of inhabitants.

Sure enough, Oala’s glances were not met unanswered. A few Bajorans who weren’t busy looked back in return, many of the younger ones with curiosity, many of the older ones with a seething hatred. Her captor continued pushing her forward.

The Bajoran pushed past a curtain and took Oala into a small alcove. Judging by the state of the place, Oala assumed it to be sleeping quarters, but the belongings present made little sense. It seemed someone was already living here. And besides, this little, unsecured room made a poor prison cell. 

“Forgive the interruption, but I’m quite confused. Is this my cell?” Oala asked when her captor untied her.

“In a manner of speaking. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of housing thousands of inmates in massive prisons like you do.”

“I meant no offen—”

“Strip for me.”

Oala once again looked to her captor with pure confusion.

“Now, Oala.”

Oala swallowed, then did as told, taking off her torso armor, then the armored legging. The Bajoran still didn’t seem satisfied at that, so she began to take off her thermal underlayer, before she looked again for approval. 

“Madame, I...is this truly necessary? I thought that in times of war, there were certain ‘reservations’ that needed to be held—”

The Bajoran cut her off again. “Hmph, tell me about it. I highly doubt your people would show us these ‘reservations.’ No, I need your uniform and you have no further use for it.” 

Oala slowly nodded. She imagined this cell would have use for a Cardassian uniform, such as false flag operations, infiltration, the works. Maybe it simply provided better insulation against the harsh winters on this world.

As the thought of winter came through her head, Oala began to realize just how cold she was getting without the thermal clothing. Now she stood in the center of this cold room in nothing but her undergarments. 

The Bajoran kicked the uniform into the corner of the room and upon noticing Oala’s shivering body, gestured to the bed at the opposite corner. 

“Make yourself comfy, Cardassian.”

Oala slowly approached the bed that had a heavy blanket that looked to be made from the pelt of a hara cat and a thinner one made of some sort of felt. She climbed in, but faced with the fact she was a cold-blooded reptile, she knew a simple pile of blankets wouldn’t quite do. 

Oala curled up as best she could and wrapped the blankets around herself. She saw the Bajoran woman rummaging around in some crates and cabinets laid about the room. She thought about asking for a heater or some other source of external warming, but Oala figured she was on thin enough ice as it was and didn’t want to push her luck at the shaky, current circumstances.

In fact several times, the Cardassian thought of asking questions but each time she opened her mouth, she stopped herself. She pondered whether this was some sort of elaborate ruse to get her to become part of some unforeseen plot, but any brainstorming thought of what this was all about escaped her. For the most part, Oala didn’t keep her captor out of sight, owed to the natural Cardassian disposition to suspicion, but perhaps out of--shyness? Or was it something else?--she turned her head whenever the Bajoran turned back to check on her.

It was difficult to tell the span of time, but Oala guessed it had been half an hour since her captor had begun working at a small desk towards the opposite wall from the bed.

“Ehm, miss?” Oala found herself saying when she finally managed to work up the courage to speak again.

“Yes?”

Oala almost immediately found herself blanking. She silently cursed at herself for being such a fool. “I’m...cold…”

Her captor sighed. “Wait a minute, okay?”

Oala could have sworn she heard the woman quietly add something along the lines of “you impatient little brat,” but she couldn’t be sure.

The Bajoran, after writing a few notes on an old PADD, eventually turned off her desk lamp and rose from her work. 

She began to take off her tunic and jewelry, tossing the garments off to the side onto the floor. Before long, she did the same with her pants.

Oala watched at first, but quickly turned in the bed so as to no longer face the woman as she undressed. Bajorans obviously didn’t have eidetic memories, but she certainly couldn’t have forgotten she held a Cardassian captive in the same room. Oala heard the Bajoran’s bare feet against the smooth, rocky floor approach and soon after, the blankets shifted. Oala’s eyes widened as the realization slowly hit her. This woman was getting into bed with her.

The Bajoran sighed and put her arm around Oala. Oala squeaked, but almost immediately, the woman’s warm _—no hot_ —blood radiated with such profound heat around her. She began to softly purr, but just as suddenly as the relief came, the curtain to the alcove rustled.

“Who’s your girlfriend, Setara?” a lanky Bajoran man chuckled as he walked through the curtains and rested his side against a tall cabinet, paying little attention to the nature of the situation.

“It’s none of your business really, Jar. We’re low on beds as it is and it only makes sense to consolidate our resources,” her captor replied.

“Yeah, but just wait. Half the cell’ll be gossiping about you and your mystery lover. Who is your lady friend anywa—?” the man began to ask when he finally focused on Oala. “...a...spoonhead?!”

Oala flinched as her captor, apparently called Setara, squinted her eyes at her. “She’s _not_ my girlfriend. She’s my prisoner. The one we took from the patrol today.”

The man opened his mouth, presumably to raise several objections to the fact that his superior was perfectly ready to sleep with someone who they collectively claimed as their mortal enemy, but Setara put up her hand. 

“Is there a reason you’re barging into my sleeping quarters?” she accusedly asked, sending the man into nervous sweat.

The man chuckled a merilless laugh, trying to hide his sudden awkwardness. “Oh, no I, uh, I just wanted to drop off these--you know, holo-images of the new Cardassian garrison outpost,” he reached into a satchel around his waist and retrieved a pair of isolinear rods, putting them on the nearby, cluttered table.

“Thank you, most helpful.”

Oala’s gaze quickly darted back and forth to her captor and her captor’s subordinate. The latter couldn’t help but stare back at her; he must have made her out to be an exotic, vicious wild animal ready to slay his general the moment he let her out of sight.

Setara shook her head. “Jar,” she said bluntly, getting his attention once more. “Get out already.”

“But!” he started, raising a finger again at the Cardassian.

“ _Now._ ”

The man let out an exasperated sigh, but eventually obeyed, leaving the room, but not without another concerned glance over his shoulder at Oala. 

Setara shook her head and pulled Oala close again. Oala inhaled sharply, still confused by the situation. Although, the thought did dawn on Oala that she, a prisoner of war, was cuddling with an enemy combatant, she supposed she did get what she wanted, something to keep her warm, that being a beautiful woman, no less. 

Oala felt Setara push herself into her back, so that the Bajoran’s breasts pressed up against her scaled back.. Likewise, Setara’s hands caressed her body, beginning with her tummy and a comment about her abdomen muscles that Oala left unanswered owed to a renewed sense of nervousness. Soon after, Setara fingers tapped at the Cardassian’s chula, sending Oala flinching.

“Oh? Sensitive there?” Setara asked at Oala’s reaction.

“Mmm-somewhat. Somewhat, miss.”

“You don’t need to keep calling me miss, you know. As much as I am a dominant person who appreciates such titles--” Setara rubbed a finger on Oala’s neck ridges, “--I think I can make an exception for you. My name is Yida Setara.”

“I-I’m pleased to meet you mi--” Oala stopped herself. “Setara.” 

“That’s a good girl.” Setara pinched at Oala’s blue kinat’hU, making Oala squirm violently and try to bat Setara’s hand away. 

“Not there! Not there! Not like that!” Oala nearly screamed. “Those are _extremely_ sensitive!”

Setara raised her hand from the third neck scale as a small courtesy and began to rub Oala’s facial ridges, including her chufa. Given the less sensitive aspect of those parts, Oala didn’t raise any objections. Though she was embarrassed to think it, Oala found herself slowly admitting that the Bajoran’s curious hands started to feel good.

Oala turned so she could face Setara in bed. Setara put her face close to Oala and Oala leaned to kiss her on the lips. Setara recoiled at first, and Oala faced impending dread believing that she misread the situation, but soon, Setara embraced her back in the kiss.

When their lips left each other’s, Oala rested her head against Setara’s upper chest. 

“A little thought just crossed my mind,” Setara whispered into Oala’s ear.

“Oh?”

“You wouldn’t be a spy, would you? Sent to infiltrate my cell with your feminine wiles?”

“Setara! If I was a spy, I’m doing quite a poor job!” Oala exclaimed, looking up at the Bajoran from chest-level.

Setara kissed the top of the Cardassians head.

“Not as terrible as you might think. Dare I say it, I’m starting to like you.”

Oala pushed herself into an embrace with the Bajoran, about to tell her that she...she loved...no...could she? Did she? Was she really in love with her captor? She hadn’t known the woman until today, when her colleagues were killed by this cell. She might not have been close to her comrades, why she might have even disliked many of them, and while Setara did spare her life, the life of a cowardly Cardassian, did that really mean anything? 

The unresolved, doubtful questions raced through Oala’s mind, as Setara put an arm around her. A wave of sleepiness seemed to envelop them both. Oala didn’t have the courage, nor the energy to ask any of those questions. 


End file.
